Apparently, the proprietor of The Skwib is out of his tiny little mind, and he’s giving away Kindles. One for liking his Facebook page (when it reaches 2000, he’ll give one away, but you can also be entered by signing up for my newsletter) and one for every 75 copies of Marvellous Hairy sold.

There’s also a 1/10 chance to win a Kindle skin, if you’ve already got a Kindle!

The Skwib is officially six years old! The first entry in this archive begins in May 2005, and I’m celebrating with free stuff.

As you may know, in addition to writing this blog, I also pen novels of a satirical and absurd nature; in fact, I started the blog as a way to let people know about my books, but I’ve found The Skwib is its own reward. I hope you feel so too! So to celebrate, I’m got a couple of giveaways to share. You can get my first novel for free, and you have a great chance to win a Kindle eReader too!

My first novel, The Amadeus Net, is a futuristic satire that asks the obvious question, would an immortal Mozart have his own “sprouter” snipped off? Do sentient cities fall in love? Find out more at The Amadeus Net, and if you’re already ready to read it, you can go download the PDF for free (until May 31), courtesy of my publisher ENC Press.

And if you’re already sold on the whole e-book thing, then you may be itching to get a Kindle. If you buy my second book, Marvellous Hairy, you’ll have a great chance to win a Kindle Wifi (the $139 version) in a draw. All you have to do is buy the Kindle edition (or paperback), and then forward your purchase confirmation to me at marvellouskindle-at-gmail (dot) com. One-in-75 wins! (If you already have a Kindle, there’s a draw for Skins too. And Canadian and UK orders also count!)

You can also get entered in the draw by signing up for my newsletter, The MonkeySphere, or liking my Facebook page. When the latter reaches 2,000, I’m giving away a Kindle to one lucky reader. (And if you’re already signed up, you’re already entered.)

On a personal note, if you’ve enjoyed The Skwib over the years, I’d like to thank you for your time!

And I’d appreciate it if you gave one or both of my novels a try too. I guarantee, they’re MUCH better than the dreck I’ve been slinging around here:

And now, a picture of a monkey, wearing a hat, riding a goat. Caution, your head may explode from the awesome:

Chapter 3c:

Nick stared at the standing figure. The security officer at the computer poked his head out to look at Nick, and then ducked back.

“Have you heard of the Panopticon?” Nick asked.

“What!”

“He’s okay,” a second male voice — presumably that of the guy behind the computer — said. “He checks out.”

“The Panopticon was invented by Jeremy Benthaman — an 18th century English philosopher. Utilitarian. Had himself mummified and put on display in a wooden cabinet. He was some freaky Dude.”

“I’m going to come out and get you fill out the agreements,” the security guard warned Nick, not wanting to know anything more about the fetishes of 18th century pervert philosophers.

The man behind the computer pressed the intercom button and said: “I know about the Panopticon. It’s a prison designed so that the prisoners don’t know if they’re being watched or not, so essentially, they’re always being watched.”

“Right,” Nick said enthusiastically. He pressed his face up against the glass. “Just like this.”

The security door opened and the officer turned on the lights.

“Okay, here are the forms and agreements. You sign where there is a sticky. Then we can get you out of here.”

“I tell you, this is the insanity pink,” Nick shook his head at the guard. “You should do something about it, especially if you have to watch this room on a regular basis. It’s probably affecting your mind.”

“Yeah, or maybe I need a new job. Here are the forms, and then you can get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 3b:

Nick sat in a small waiting area in the “public” part of the offices. It was somewhat reminiscent of the kind of waiting area you’d find at a LubeItUp or any car service outlet, without the smell of petrochemicals and stale coffee. There were four uncomfortable seats made of black metal tubing and worn cloth that looked like it was once teal in color. There were no magazines, or any other form of amusement. A large two-way mirror spanned one wall of the waiting room, which allowed the security team to watch people waiting to speak with them. The entrance door was locked, and controlled from a large room that housed security feeds from around the building. The rest of the security department was hidden behind another door that had both a keypad and a biometric lock. In other words, Nick was not able to leave the room, even though it was seriously fucking with his chi. He had his computer with him, but he was too distracted to write anything, sitting there, waiting for security to establish that he wasn’t an eco-terrorist, or plain-old regular terrorist, hoping to de-erect the great big Glass Dick with a pocket full of Semtex.

There is a moment’s pause, and then a voice said from a speaker: “Yes, we can hear you Mr. Motbot. What is wrong?”

“This room is freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s something wrong with it. It has a bad vibe. It’s not… right.”

“Mr. Motbot, the room is designed to be calming, even though you are essentially our prisoner.”

“Designed?” Nick asked the unseen security guard, ignoring the issue of his imprisonment.

“Yes. We’ve painted the room pink.”

“How is that going to make me calm?” Nick asked. “What if I don’t like pink?”

“Psychological studies show that pink reduces aggression and can have a calming influence.”

“What do psychological studies show about observing someone through a two-way mirror and forcing them to sit on threadbare mid-80s furniture?”

“We’re just checking your references and the government security databases so we can give you clearance,” the voice reassured him.

Nick was not reassured.

“I think you’ve got color wrong.”

“Excuse me?” the disembodied voice said.

Nick put his face right next to the glass, and tried to look through. He could not see anything beyond it, but he noticed that there was a set of light switches near the doors to the rest of the security offices. He turned them off, and then returned to the two-way mirror. He could make out a figure standing next to someone who was clearly sitting in front of a computer screen.

“What are you doing Mr. Motbot?”

“I like to see the people I’m talking with, unless it’s, you know, a dream. Or some kind of trip.”

This week I’d like to give you, my loyal Skwib readers, a chance to preview some other parts of my second novel, Marvellous Hairy. You can find all of Chapter 1 here. Chapter 2 is not suitable for this PG-rated blog. (So know you know you want to get your own copy. Details here, or just look for online stores in the right sidebar.) This is the first of three parts.

Chapter 3a:

Nick’s rendezvous with his simian destiny began early the next morning.

While everyone else was still abed, dreaming dreams of lizards in wedding dresses, my friend Nick approached the famous Phallus Building — the huge shaft of glass and black metal that was a paean to corporate greed and the towering ego of Ted S. Shute, CEO of Gargantuan Enterprises. Of course, it wasn’t actually called the Phallus Building, any more than Gargen was called Gargantuan or even “The Gag.” (Though GAG was its stock ticker name.)

Nick is probably my best friend, but that doesn’t mean that I really get him. He gave up traditional work a few years ago to pursue his dream of creating a “transformative surrealistic form of writing.” He actually talks like that. The working title of this baffling opus is “monkeyjoy!” I can’t tell you much about it, because he’s never let me read a word of it. Unfortunately, he still inflicts his poetry on me from time to time.

Since he dropped out of the nine-to-five, Nick has been making ends meet by working as a test subject for a variety of multinational companies. His body chemistry is probably a nightmare, but he seems happy enough. He’s free to follow his art, as much as anyone is. So, that’s why he was approaching the Gargantuan building — he’d signed on for a new study with them.

The lobby was empty except for a female security guard who looked exhausted — it was five in the morning and she’d been on shift since eleven. Nick was a fairly non-descript fellow, with curly brown hair and a medium build going slightly to paunch. So he didn’t look threatening and he didn’t do anything weird, so the security guard buzzed him in. Nick’s face was rounder than it was when we were at the Good University together, but his eyes were still the same deep blue they’ve always been, with a perpetually intelligent, yet distracted look to them. Some women have describe his eyes as “dreamy,” which I don’t get, but so what? He’s always grooved with women, and the security guard was no different.

“Hey hon,” she said warmly as Nick approached her desk, “what are you doing here so early?”

“They said to report to the security offices by 5 am,” Nick said. “The subject is late.”

“You are, huh? Well, I’ll give them a call and let them know you’re here. Just go up those stairs and take the hallway to the right. Past the elevators. End of the hallway is a door, and they’ll take it from there.”

Nick took in the sterile surroundings as he walked, feeling a little anxious. This was his first time working with Gargantuan, and he’d heard stories about its overweening evil. (From me.) But there was no denying the pay was excellent.

Unlike the rest of the offices and shops on the ground floor of the Gargantuan building, which were put together by the best interior decorators and featured lots of black marble, the security offices were utilitarian and far from classy.